


You Shape My Dreams into Flesh

by Siana



Series: Don't Call it Fate [2]
Category: Yuuri!!! on Ice - Fandom
Genre: Are you sure?, Because I've got a load of it right here, Did someone order angst?, M/M, no?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siana/pseuds/Siana
Summary: It turns out communicating without corpses as intermediate is not as easy as it seems.





	

Yuuri can feel the tremors of shock in his body, but his hand is steady on the handle of his gun as he points it at Viktor Nikiforov’s head.

If he’s entirely honest, he doesn’t exactly know what he’s expected from this. Hadn’t dared to think beyond the moment he knocked on the door and someone – he hadn’t even dared hoping that it would really be Viktor – would open.

And he is. Ecstatic. Viktor, whom he’s only ever seen from afar, blurry pictures taken from a distance, an incredible rare shot of Viktor frozen in the peak of a jump and one clear, candid shot Yuuri cherishes above any others of Viktor as he was about to get into a car, the light catching on his silver hair, glinting in the cool blue of his eyes – Viktor is here. The identity he’s pieced together meticulously, obsessively from all the scraps he’s found over the years. He is really here. And Yuuri is happy to the point he feels like unraveling any moment, but he’s also primed to the edge of danger.

Right now, the most familiar thing is the gun in his hand.

“How do you know my name?” he asks in English. The door closes quietly behind him, shutting out the world and the dangers it offer to this precarious situation. Yuuri feels on the edge of breaking, but his voice and hand are calm.

Viktor stands frozen on the spot, a few paces away, where he retreated from the threat of the gun. His expression is unguarded, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He looks past the gun at Yuuri’s face and the expression in his eyes – so vulnerable and _open_ drags the floor from under Yuuri’s feet.

“Yuuri…” It’s a breath more than it is a word and Viktor jerks forward as though pulled on a string and then stops abruptly. There are tears. He’s crying. Even through the curtain of silver hair, Yuuri can clearly see the tears clouding the blue of Viktor’s eyes.

Yuuri drops the hand with the gun to his side. Steps forward. He’s acting on something not quite instinct but insistently drawn forward all the same. He hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t dared to, but the truth is. This is Viktor. The man he’d only ever glimpsed, whose footsteps he had traced and admired. Who had become something of an obsession.

This is Viktor. This is his dream.

He lifts the obscuring strands of hair with a gloved hand and stares at the face he’d only ever dared to dream of. The face he had tried to mold in his mind, into the expression of a killer, a mobster, anything that would do the deeds he’s known Viktor committed justice. The face that now looks at him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world.

Viktor’s hand lifts as though to touch him, but Yuuri quickly steps backwards and out of reach. It does not bring the relief or clarity he’s hoped. It only brings into perspective how shaky his legs are. He feels his way around in the darkness of unfamiliarity until he finds something that he understands.

“The gun,” he says, “what was that for?”

Viktor’s gun that is still lying on the ground. Viktor wears a suit, but it is far from the immaculate presentation of his public persona, the jacket hangs over the back of the nearby couch, along with the two holsters and one gun. His vest hangs open and the shirt sleeves are pushed up. But Yuuri, who understands that a mask is never in the clothes, that they are only an additional layer, Yuuri who knows that the beast always, always lies underneath, understands this at least; a gun brings death and little else.

“A precaution,” Viktor says. His voice sounds hoarse. He hasn’t yet wiped away the tears and Yuuri wishes he could do it. _Wants_ to do it with a fierceness that is almost painful.

He shouldn’t have come, he thinks. This can only be dangerous.

“I didn’t know. If you…” Viktor trails off. He seems caught by something in Yuuri’s face. “I almost didn’t recognize you without glasses,” he says softly.

Alarm bells ring in Yuuri’s head, and he thinks of raising the gun again, but Viktor does not wait for him to sort out his conflicting emotions.

“This could have been a trap. You could have come to kill me.” Viktor laughs, a short burst, more a huff, but it clears some of the haze from his eyes. On his lips a curl that could almost be a smile. “I’ve set this up,” he gestures with his hand to the room, the situation at large, “but I didn’t know your intentions.”

It makes sense, Yuuri has to admit. It makes a tragic amount of sense. Tragic because Yuuri did not think to reach for his gun until Viktor had said his name.

“I didn’t expect it to be you,” Viktor says and looks at him again with that expression.

It could be something worse than dangerous. It could not be real.

Yuuri holsters his gun. It’s wrong probably, but he knows he could not shoot Viktor. Not when he has this expression of wonder and adoration on his face, not when his eyes seem to shine so brightly, not when he seems to teeter endlessly on the cusp of a smile that Yuuri knows will wreck him, if it ever comes.

“How do you know me?” he asks. The threat has left his voice and so has the calm. He sounds shaky, and still it is only a fraction of the imbalance he feels inside.

He’s admired Viktor from afar for so long. He had taken up figure skating after learning Viktor was skater himself, after seeing recordings from his youth when he had still competed and being simply _captivated_ by Viktor’s sheer brilliance. He had dreamed of one day seeing him skating with his own eyes, yet he had always known that it would forever be a dream. The Snake had not been a snake then, but he had left the ice to step into the role of heir to one of the most dangerous crime families on the planet.  He’d traded the grace and beauty of his figure skating for the deadly poison of a serpent.

He was too slippery, too fast, too good and too dangerous to be pinned down. He could – and once did – walk into a house choke full of men out to kill him and be the only one left standing.

No, Yuuri thinks, he hadn’t dared to anticipate what would wait beyond this door, because he knew his dream could never be more than that.

“You don’t remember,” Viktor says and he sounds wistful. “But we met before. I never thought I’d see you again.” He’s smiling now and it hits Yuuri right where he expected it too. He did not, however, expect just how much it hurts.

“I thought I could do it,” Viktor says. “When I saw the first body, I got excited. No one’s offered a serious challenge in years and you – the Boar – you were so _audacious_. You spoke my language as if it were your own. It reminded me of… when we first met except I did not know it was _you_. I never thought I would see you again, so I thought this would be good enough. But I couldn’t do it.”

He takes a step forward and this time Yuuri doesn’t move away.

“The moment I saw you – _Yuuri_ – I knew it could have never been anyone but you. You have my heart.”

He thinks he hasn’t heard right, but Viktor’s face does not leave room for doubt. There are still traces of tears, there is a telltale tremble to his lips, but he is smiling and his eyes are bright. And he is looking at Yuuri, hasn’t looked at anything but Yuuri since he’s opened the door. Not even at the gun that’s been pointed at his head.

Yuuri understands masks. He understands the necessity to become someone else, to _pretend_ to be someone else. He understands the difference between himself and Viktor. Viktor is the heir, the next _Pakhan_ , he has his hands in businesses both legal and illegal. He’s rich beyond measure, he has a successful future paved out before him, has men sworn to lay their lives down for him. Whereas Yuuri is resigned to the shadows, to be called upon when needed and ignored when not.

But Yuuri also understands their similarities. The guns they both carry, the guns they both have used countless times and without hesitation. He understands that while he can put on glasses and skate a dream on the ice, he will also always be the person who slits a woman’s throat for the simple crime of being involved with a man she didn’t know was a traitor.

The moment seems suspended with the two of them staring at each other without blinking. Yuuri thinks if he just looks long enough he’ll understand.

But the truth is. He already does.

He remembers. The exhilaration of discovering a new body, a new message. The time he’d spent pondering the meaning of each. The time he’d spent looking up flowers, the frustration as he’d realized that for proper classification he’d need the whole plant and not just the blossom. The endless time he’s looked at images of flowers and tried to figure out what it was he’d held in his hands. And then the paranoid fear that he’d gotten it wrong, that despite Viktor’s directions he was checking the wrong language and how he had gone through every nationality he could think of just to be sure.

He thinks of the shattered crystal and glass of the rose he’d prepared. No matter the language, the rose is always the same. He _understands_.

He’s been lost for a long time now.

He just doesn’t know if it makes a difference.

~*~

If this is a dream, Viktor thinks, he never wants to wake up.

His hands haven’t stopped shaking, and the constant heart palpitations can’t be good for his health, but. He doesn’t want this moment to dissolve into waking. Doesn’t want to even blink in case Yuuri disappears when he does.

Yuuri.

He can’t take his eyes off Yuuri. He looks different than he remembers, colder somehow and yet. He would recognize this face anywhere even without glasses and the dull glint of a killer in his eyes.

“What now?” Yuuri asks. He sounds- not tired, not exactly, but - weary somehow. But he’s still here. Hasn’t run after Viktor’s confession. He’s still here.

On shaky legs, Viktor walks to the couch and slumps down. He leans forward and pulls the cork from the bottle of Champagne. He pours them both a glass and raises one to Yuuri.

“I need a drink,” he says and means _please stay_.

And then, remarkably and impossibly, Yuuri smiles. It’s just a twitch of his lips, but it is there and Viktor feels his heart flutter and his fingers grow shaky and he thinks if this is a dream, let me die in my sleep.

Yuuri takes the glass and sits down opposite him, only the coffee table between them. And then he raises the glass. Viktor’s hands are still shaking but he raises his and for a moment they hold like that. There are no words, no toast. Just the two of them and at least for Viktor there is also hope.

Viktor drinks and tastes nothing but the memory of Yuuri’s smile.

“You and me,” Yuuri says and drinks. “Explain.”

“You don’t remember,” Viktor says again and it hurts less this time. “But we met before. Two years ago in Hong Kong.”

Yuuri’s eyes twitch, dart to the side and then land back on Viktor. There are signs, a slight tightening of Yuuri’s grip on the glass, the hint of a frown. But he does not offer anything so Viktor takes another sip and continues, “I was there because of business. It went well and I decided to relax a bit afterward.”

Hong Kong had been divided territory then. Too many factions with invested interest. Depending on your allegiance, stepping foot into the wrong part of town could get you killed. And Viktor had done just that. He’d crossed borders into triad territory and entered a high class bar he knew was under the umbrella of the triad’s influence.

It had no longer been at the end of the night. And so Viktor had decided to give his new establishment a try and settled at a table near the wall, close to the dark stage that housed a currently unused piano.

“I remember,” Yuuri says softly and stares at his glass. “That at least I do. Two years ago I was in Hong Kong for a job. It went wrong.” There’s a pause that bears significance that Viktor does not understand. “I decided to get drunk.” He shrugs.

“You did,” Viktor says. “You made a scene.”

Yuuri frowns at him. It’s no subtle change this time, but a full-on frown. But then it smoothes out into that same faint smile from earlier. “Unfortunately, that is very much possible. Alcohol and I don’t mix well.”

Viktor can’t help it, he laughs. It seems to startle Yuuri and he stares at Viktor with an aching familiarity that brings him back to that night.

“That puts it lightly,” he says. “You had already lost your pants and jacket by the time you started dancing on the piano.” _Dancing_ puts it mildly, but Viktor thinks Yuuri would not appreciate it knowing he all but ground on the instrument. “You had sprayed Champagne all over yourself before that. And then you picked me out from the crowd.” To his surprise the words make Yuuri blush, a furious color that rides high on his cheeks. Yuuri quickly empties his glass and stares at the wall.

“You pulled me up on the piano to dance with you.” He doesn’t hold back on his amusement, especially as it intensifies Yuuri’s blush. “Good thing you did,” he notes amusedly. “They would have kicked you out otherwise. I own that bar, so they couldn’t really.”

Yuuri presses his lips together in what almost could be a pout. “Is that all it was good for?” He asks and it takes a moment for Viktor to comprehend. When he does, he bursts out laughing again.

“Oh no,” he say. “I was very… enticed, shall I say? You offered a very spirited performance. And then you asked me to show you how to skate? I wasn’t sure, you were slurring your speech a lot and saying most of it in Japanese. It was adorable, quite honestly.”

Yuuri groans. And buries his face in his hands.

Viktor stares at him and feels warmth and adoration and he thinks, if this is a dream, at least he can die remembering he did once have a dream worth living for.

But this isn’t a dream, and whatever twisted version of reality this is it has decided to bless him, if just for now. “So I took you to my hotel room with me,” he says softly.

Yuuri looks up sharply and the cold edge is back then, all traces of a blush gone. “We had sex,” he says and it comes out flat.

“No,” Viktor says. “We didn’t.”

The surprise is almost painful to behold. “Why?”

“Because you were drunk.”

Yuuri frowns. “I came on to you, didn’t I?”

“You did. But you were drunk. I would not sleep with you when you were imbibed.” A distinction that had come hard to him. Yuuri had excited him, more than just physically. He had just finished one of the most complex and dangerous maneuvers in his criminal career to win complete control over Hong Kong and it had left him feeling cold. And then Yuuri had come along, a man who outwardly seemed so simple and somewhat shy, needing the release of alcohol to let loose, but Viktor had noticed the firmly packed muscles on Yuuri’s body, the incredible sense of control and poise as he balanced them both on the piano.

He had not been able to remember the last time he had felt anything but the cool veil of detached amusement, couldn’t even remember the last time his triumph had felt real. But then, in that moment, he had felt his heart beating so wild it felt almost like a living thing. 

And he had wanted Yuuri, had wanted him so badly he thought himself willing to take his pleasure by force. But Yuuri had been drunk, eyes unfocused and unsteady on his feet at last and Viktor had thought that no matter how much he wanted, it would not be worth it.

“So what happened?”

“I tucked you in. I would have slept on the couch, but you wouldn’t let go of me. So I slept next to you.”

Yuuri’s thumb draws circles on the Champagne glass in his hand. “I remember waking up with a hangover. But I don’t remember you.”

Viktor smiles. “I woke up before you. I went to the bathroom and when I returned you were already dressed completely. You saw me and said, ‘the room’s free now, you can start cleaning.’ Then you handed me a 1000 Yen note as tip and left.”

It had been painful. In a way it had been the most painful thing Viktor had ever experienced. He’d thought for a while that Yuuri had played him, used him to find cheap accommodations for the night and then played it off the next morning. But it hadn’t really made sense, not when Yuuri handed out cash without bothering to look at it. The realization that Yuuri had simply forgotten had hurt even more.

Yuuri sighs and sounds wary doing it. Viktor is gripped by the sudden fear that he’s going to leave now that the tale is told. Like he did two years ago and leave Viktor with a glimpse of what could be and then taking it all away.

“I meant what I said,” he blurts out. He can feel the color settle in his cheeks but he holds Yuuri’s gaze.

“What do you mean?”

Viktor swallows. “The messages. I didn’t know it was, well, you. But. I meant it. The flowers, what they mean. I meant it.” He doesn’t remember the last time he was this nervous, or if he ever was. He knows the words are failing him, but Viktor doesn’t know how he could convey the immense measure of emotions he feels just at the thought of Yuuri.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says eventually and it is both his salvation and undoing at once. It is the barely restrained pain in them that breaks Viktor’s heart.

“Did you mean it?” He whispers. He can still see some of the petals of the rose Yuuri brought lying scattered on the floor near the door.

Yuuri closes his eyes. He looks pained and Viktor wants to take it away. But he can’t undo his words and he can’t undo the circumstances that brought them here, nor can he change the worlds that lie between them.

“I can’t,” Yuuri says, eyes still closed.

 _Then why did you stay_ , Viktor wants to ask, but doesn’t. If their time is measured in seconds, he’s grateful that he got a minute. Or so he tells himself. But in truth, he feels like he’s falling apart, like his heart is tearing itself into shreds, because if it can’t beat for Yuuri, what’s the point of it beating at all?

“You haven’t even tried,” Viktor forces himself to say. “We can do-“

Yuuri stands and glass shatters on the floor. Yuuri’s eyes are wild and suddenly he’s across the room, close to the wall and all Viktor comprehends is there are still several meters between Yuuri and the door and _thank God he is not leaving._

“What, we can do _what?_ ” Yuuri snaps. “Pretend we aren’t who we are? Have an _affair_?”

Viktor feels floored faced with this anger. He doesn’t understand where it came from, doesn’t understand why Yuuri looks as though he’s close to shattering himself, when his eyes are blazing with heat and anger and his words cut right into Viktor’s heart.

He takes the pain and twists it into anger. “Would that be so bad?” He shouts back. “Is it because I’m a _man_? Didn’t you know that before? Did you delude yourself into thinking the Snake was a woman, _Boar_?” The words taste like ash on his tongue, but he holds on to the anger with all his might. If he doesn’t, Viktor thinks, he will fall apart.

“That’s not the point.” There are tears in Yuuri’s voice and on his face and Viktor loses hold on his anger. It dissolves into dust and a hollow ache in his chest. “You were my dream, Viktor.” The words are like slaps, but their sting feels oddly distant, as though Viktor’s body is no longer his own.

“You can’t be real,” Yuuri whispers. His anger is gone now too. “I wanted you for so long, but you-“ Yuuri blinks and drops the hand he’d lifted to reach out for Viktor who is still half a room away.

“Then why are you running away?” Viktor says bitterly. There is an abundance of weapons in this room, but none could hurt as much as what Yuuri is doing to him right now. Viktor wants him to fight.

“It would never work,” Yuuri says and sounds final. Viktor wants to slap the conceit from his lips. “You are the next _Pakhat_. My father will want you dead eventually. And who do you think the order will fall to?”

“You don’t have to,” Viktor says, but it is resigned. He doesn’t know why Yuuri is doing it, but he recognizes the process of cauterizing a wound. Except there is no wound, but there will be and Yuuri is simply preemptive.

“You don’t understand,” Yuuri says. “You have a place.” And when he turns and walks to the door without another word, Viktor lets him. He doesn’t speak or move until Yuuri’s pulled the door shut behind him. On the floor lie the remains of a promise, a red rose shattered into pieces.

“I would have given it up for you,” Viktor says to the closed door. The door does not reply.

If this is a dream, Viktor thinks, now is the time to wake up.

 

 


End file.
